


Autumn Leaves: Prologue

by Guessimaclotpole



Series: Autumn Leaves [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns, Bittersweet Ending, Deaf Character, Family Feels, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Love, Magic, Modern Era, Other, Oxford, Prologue, Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guessimaclotpole/pseuds/Guessimaclotpole
Summary: Arthur Pendragon finally returns. He resides in the same body, lying dormant in the brain of Arthur Covington until he can be awakened by Merlin's Magic.The Story Begins:Esther McCrae grew up in a small Scottish village by the name of Tillicoultry. She loved to write, and had dreams of becoming a best-selling author in England or America. Her father, Douglas, had battled with her, but she was a stubborn and strong-minded young lady. As soon as she was 18, she left home to pursue a literary qualification at Oxford University, where she first met Albert Covington.





	1. Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> Okay before anyone reads this, it is crucial to know that this work is a prequel to a series or stories. This fic is based solely around Arthur and his modern family; and how a sequence of events happen that bring him back to Merlin. (Though the series will be Merlin/Arthur, this story is not and is heavily based on Original Characters.)
> 
> The series will feature Merlin and Arthur as the main characters, but this prologue is a part of the whole picture for those interested in reading it.
> 
> Major Character Death tag: Please note that none of the Merlin characters die in this story. 
> 
> I would like to give a huge, undying thankyou to [Caledonia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caledonia/pseuds/Caledonia). Not only are you an incredible beta, but you put yourself through the pain of this unbelievably sad story and constantly filled me with confidence throughout the writing process. I am indebted to you, and feel incredibly lucky to call you a friend.
> 
> Also, to [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743253) who created the absolutely UNBELIEVABLE cover art for this fic. Your art will always astound me and I am so fortunate and blessed that you have made this beautiful picture. 
> 
> Please read the tags before reading this story, and note that each section will have separate warnings.

[ ](https://imgur.com/PBfoMl9)

_On October 11_ _th_ _, 1991, Esther Covington gave birth to a healthy baby boy. He weighed 7lb, 6oz and was delivered by natural birth at 19:47. Esther held her child to her chest as she cried into his golden hair and her husband, Albert, cut the umbilical cord. They named him Arthur James, after Albert’s father, and their previously stillborn son._

_Arthur was their miracle baby, and he would be their everything for the remainder of their lives._

 

* * *

 

 

_A month before his first birthday, Arthur took his first un-aided steps into Esther’s outstretched arms before she embraced him and smothered him with praise. Not one week later, Esther and Albert had to move all of their expensive ornaments from the tables and the fireside – and Arthur got his first proper bump from tripping over his own feet and bumping his nose on a chair leg._

_He didn’t cry, because his Mother and Father were there and even at that young age, he knew he had no reason to be upset when in their presence._

 

* * *

 

 

_A week after Arthur’s third birthday, Esther was contacted by the local nursery. Esther and Albert made sure to teach Arthur how to share and be kind before, in January, he attended his first nursery class._

_Esther sat outside in the lobby and broke her heart over hearing Arthur’s cries in the main room, but she knew this was part of parent-hood. She knew this was how Arthur would have to learn._

_The crying soon stopped, and after an hour of scribbling notes for her new novel, Arthur was returned to her with a big smile on his face._

_“I like my Gemma, Mumma!”_

_The staff explained that Arthur had made friends with a young deaf girl called Gemma, and that he immediately took to making sure she was well looked after._

_Later that day when Albert returned from work, Esther’s heart swelled with pride and she tearfully told her husband how proud she was of their son._

* * *

 

 

_In June of the same year, Esther and Albert discussed Arthur’s education. Though it took some persuading, Albert agreed to let his son attend the local public primary school._

_After Arthur’s first day in September, Esther asked if he had made any friends._

_“No Mumma, they were nasty to Gemma, so I don’t want to be friends with them.”_

_Esther’s heart had broken for the two of them, yet when she asked if he’d had a bad day – he surprised her with his reply._

_“No, I like it. The teachers are nice and they said I was very smart and kind and that Gemma is good at drawing pictures- and then, then I had some mince and dumplings for dinner and I learned how to write big, long sen-ten-en-ces” he had said with a big excited smile, and Esther had realised that she wasn’t concerned at all._

_Her boy was going to follow in her footsteps._

 

* * *

 

 

_When Arthur was five, Esther had asked him if he wanted Gemma to come over after school for dinner. What Esther had not been expecting after Gemma’s mother had dropped her off, was for Arthur to greet her at the door and for the two of them to start vigorously signing at each other._

_She managed to pull Arthur aside, where she tearfully asked him why he had never told her he could do sign language._

_“You never asked,” he had replied simply, and when Esther pushed further and asked more questions, he gave a very intelligent response._

_“I’ve never done it at home because I don’t have to because Gemma isn’t here. Mrs Grey taught me how in nursery and now Mrs Daniels helps me do it – but Gemma teaches me the bestest.”_

_Together the three of them made chocolate muffins. Arthur and Gemma took the bowl of cake mix while Esther licked the spatula, and they made glitter pictures together before the muffins were ready to come out of the oven._

 

* * *

_When Arthur was six, his Daddy took some time off work after Easter, and he took Arthur on lots of days out. Arthur’s Mumma stayed home while he and Daddy visited the museum and Arthur got to look at all of the dinosaurs and the big ships and his Daddy’s favourite bit- the Egyptians._

_They had lunch in the museum café and even though Arthur liked chicken the best, he always had cheese and pickle sandwiches when he went out with Daddy because he wanted to be just like him._

_Daddy bought Arthur a humongous peacock feather quill and he said it was for being such a good boy; and that he was super-duper proud of Arthur._

_The next day, Arthur and his Daddy had went on a long bike ride up the track, and even though Arthur knew his Daddy could ride his bike super-quick, he always rode slowly so that Arthur could beat him._

_That night, Daddy tucked him into bed and read Little Rabbit Foo-Foo; and then after when Arthur asked nicely, his Daddy sang him ‘You are my Sunshine’._

 

* * *

 

 

_When Arthur was eleven, he had his leavers day at Primary School. Everyone signed each other’s shirts and all of the year 6s did a big school play about displaying talents. Esther had been told by Arthur that their section was top secret, and so when Arthur came out onto the stage hand-in-hand with his best friend to read an original story, signing all the while, Esther cried the proudest tears._

_And sat next to her; Elizabeth, Gemma’s Mum, held her hand while images were projected onto the back screen that Gemma had illustrated for Arthur’s story._

_In the following awards ceremony, Gemma won an award for being the most enthusiastic learner, and the most advanced in art. Arthur had won pupil of the year for being ‘the kindest and most pure soul the school had ever come across’._

_It was the proudest day of Esther’s life so far._


	2. Adolescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Minor Character Death

_ Arthur was eleven when the summer holidays ended, and he and Gemma attended their local secondary school for the first time. They were fortunate enough to have been placed in the same class, because by this point, Arthur was Gemma’s interpreter. They had a good start, and no one seemed to pick on them or call them names, and Arthur was incredibly grateful that there were other students willing to learn the basics of sign so that they could say hello to Gemma. _

_ That day when he went home and his Mum asked “How was your first day, honey?”, Arthur was able to say that both he and Gemma had loved it. _

 

* * *

 

_ When Arthur was fourteen, he was faced with the task of choosing his GCSE options. English Literature was already a given, because he wanted to go into writing like his Mum. History too; knowing historical events would be key in research if he were to write a novel one day. He then had to choose one more, and so he chose Physical Education. Not because he liked it more than anything else, but because he had always been a natural at all things sports related. _

_ It was also mandatory to choose a Modern Foreign Language, and so for the first time in three and a half years, Arthur got himself into a row with the school. Gemma, of course, hadn’t been expected to take a language class and was given a free period; and like hell was she going to spend that time alone. Instead, Arthur had decided to fight against the school so that he could keep her company. He was already advanced in Sign, and surely that was worth just as much? _

_ In the end, the school had caved and Arthur was able to withdraw from his Spanish classes before they had even started. _

 

* * *

 

_ When Arthur was sixteen, his Mum put down a deposit on a huge white limousine to take Arthur and his friends to prom. After studying sports for two years and specialising in gym training for the latter half, he filled out the navy, tailored tuxedo that his Father had bought for him quite nicely. _

_ “Arthur, son. You look so grown up.” His Mum said as she wiped her tears on her handkerchief at the final fitting. _

_ “Mum?” he asked.  _

_ That day, Arthur asked his Mum a pivotal, life-altering question, and she had almost burst with joy. _

_ This question led to him being sat on a beanbag at book club after school in early June. He and Gemma had been reading for a little while together by this point, and when all of Arthur’s friends from gym came in and stood in a line, Gemma looked up in confusion. _

_ Then, one by one, they signed the words ‘Will you go to prom with Arthur?’, and when Gemma turned back to him with tear-wet eyes and nodded, he presented her with a diamond-encrusted tiara that had been his Mother’s. _

 

* * *

 

_ On the day of prom, Arthur and his friends from gym were gathered in the dining room while his mother took pictures of them all and his father straightened all of their ties. Arthur hadn’t planned on wearing a tie himself, but his Dad had taken him to one side and presented him with a smooth burgundy pencil tie that had been one of his own. _

_ “I figured that if Gemma was going to wear something of your mother’s, you could wear something of mine.” and Arthur nodded in thanks and let his Father tie it around his collar. _

_ The doorbell rang then, and Arthur gave his Dad a little nod before picking up the bouquet of white lilies and pink roses from the dining table and heading to the door. _

_ Arthur had grown up knowing Gemma inside and out. She had never cared about how she looked or dressed because she felt she had nobody to impress. She always figured nobody would ever love a deaf girl but she had been wrong. _

_ As much as Arthur loved her simplicity, it was in that moment when she stood in his doorway that Arthur realised something else. In her slim, emerald green dress, embellished with silver crystals and jewels around the hem and waist, and her red curly hair framing her face; Gemma looked like nothing Arthur had ever seen before. _

_ She beamed at him with her perfect teeth and it made him smile because he remembered when she used to freak out about her braces and how the colours clashed with her hair. _

_ Her makeup was simple, yet ravishing and Arthur knew in that moment why he’d never had a school crush or a first date. _

_ It was because he was, and had always been, in love with Gemma. _

_ And it didn’t take much to know that she loved him too. _

_ That evening, Arthur took Gemma’s hand as he walked her out to the hall gardens for some fresh air. They walked hand in hand until they reached a balcony draped in fairy lights and lanterns. _

_ ‘It’s beautiful,’ she signed, one-handed. _

_ He turned to face her, and the way the diamonds in her tiara caught the light had made them sparkle so much, and her green eyes were so full of wonder and creativity; and she was the most perfect thing he had ever seen. _

_ ‘You’re beautiful.’ he signed in response and she had smiled shyly to herself before leaning in for a hug. _

_ And then, as he embraced her in his arms, he felt her head tilt; and for the first time in his life he had heard Gemma speak. _

_ “I ‘ove a'you, Ar-thur” she mumbled, and it was quiet and uneven, but perfect nonetheless. _

_ He pulled away to look at her through his own tear-filled eyes, and then while he kissed her soft and long, he put his hand against her chest, where he signed ‘I love you, too, Gemma’ against her heart. _

 

* * *

 

_ When Arthur was sixteen, he started studying his English Literature course at college. Gemma, now his girlfriend, chose to study art. _

_ His Dad had recently been given a promotion which meant he was to work months at a time away from home. Arthur missed him, and evidently so did his Mum. He was old enough to understand now that his family had a small fortune due to his mother’s success as a novel writer and his Dad’s company stretching to other countries, but his parents were very grounded people, and he understood how hard they worked. _

_ Arthur had actually started writing a novel of his own but was finding it difficult to keep his ideas from jumbling up. His Mum had promised to help him once he had some time off college. _

 

* * *

 

_ When Arthur was eighteen, he returned home from college one early December day to find his Mother with swollen, red eyes curled up on the couch, sobbing. He immediately ran to her and asked what was wrong, and in the end, Arthur had to hear it from the house cook, Marie, that his Dad had taken very ill whilst in Africa. _

 

* * *

 

_ On the 9 _ _ th _ _ of December, Albert Covington passed away. He died within an hour of crossing into British airspace. The next time Arthur was able to see him was on the 12 _ _ th _ _ December, where his body lay in an open casket; dressed in a light grey suit and a burgundy tie. _


	3. Adulthood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major Character Death/s

_ When Arthur was nineteen, he enrolled at Oxford University where he studied advanced English Literature and Novel Writing. Gemma took an art course that allowed her to specialise in painting and sculpting and they were thrilled to be given the approval for an apartment closer to the University. _

_ Arthur and Gemma found it very easy living together. Often their apartment was full of notebooks, canvases, clay and stray paper; but it was their home and it was what made them happy. _

 

* * *

 

_ In early September, when Arthur was 19, he received a phone call from Marie asking him to come home as soon as he could. _

_ From that point onward he watched as his Mum’s body grew weaker and as her hair grew thinner. He watched as her limbs became frail and as her eyes became paler. Her skin was almost translucent by the time Christmas came and she was being cared for full-time by Marie. _

_ On the nights where Arthur stayed with his mother later than usual before returning home, Gemma stroked his hair while he cried into her lap. _

 

* * *

 

_ When Arthur was twenty, the hospital allowed his Mum to go with him to Gemma’s second year exhibition at University. There were no nurses, no doctors and no carers - just Arthur and his Mum. _

_ Gemma had a whole hallway dedicated to her work, and after looking at the first two enormous paintings Arthur realised what he was seeing. _

_ The first was a picture- a grayscale silhouette of two young children playing together, golden flecks of paint surrounding them. The second, a slightly clearer silhouette of two children and a woman at a counter with bowls and spoons, again with elements of gold. The third was a coloured painting this time, of daisy chains in the grass with a pile of fiction novels and a paintbrush, all with a golden glow. The fourth painting was of a balcony with fairy lights and lanterns and a smaller selection of paintings underneath were of a hand on an emerald green, jewel emblazoned chest, signing the words ‘I love you’. _

_ Arthur walked on, pushing his Mother in her chair, and stopped at every painting. The one of their new home, the one of them embracing, and finally - the clearest of them all; the one of Arthur holding his Mother’s hand while she lay sleeping. Every single picture lined somehow with gold, and every one as beautiful as the last. _

_ He stood and looked at the portrait of his mother. Hairless, fragile and thin, and before he could say anything, he was handed a leaflet by a staff member. _

_ ‘My Definition of Happiness, by Gemma Baker.’ _

_ Arthur looked down at his Mum who was smiling up at him, and even as frail as she was; she still had a twinkle in her eye. _

_ “Did you know?” he asked as he looked back at the painting on the wall. _

_ “Of course I knew,” she replied with a soft laugh. _

_ That night, Arthur and Gemma slept over at Esther’s house and Arthur couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had felt more loved. _

 

* * *

 

_ On his twenty-first birthday, Arthur decided to spend the day with his Mum at the hospital. They thought back to older times when Arthur was young, and his Mum told him time and time again how proud she was of him. _

_ Before he left, his Mum handed him a golden gift box and told him not to open it until he got home.  _

_ He stayed until the hospital staff kicked him out, and his mind had been full of stress on the car ride home. He wasn’t used to spending days without Gemma but she had been far too ill with a stomach bug to go to a hospital. Arthur also worried about his Mum being alone during the night. At the hospital she didn’t have Marie, and she’d never been alone before, not really.  _

_ When Arthur returned home, he found Gemma’s nimble body curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. He gently scooped her up and carried her up the stairs. As he ran his thumb over her freckled cheek, he told her he loved her, then he tucked her in. _

_ Arthur then returned to the sofa and opened the gift box. _

_ Inside was a pristine and expensive writing set, along with a note and certificate that stated ‘Arthur James Covington, if he redeems this voucher in less than 10 years from its purchase date, is guaranteed one published novel from Brindlesbrook Publishing Ltd.’  _

_ His mother’s editors, and Arthur could have his own novel with them. _

 

* * *

 

_ Exactly one week after his twenty-first Birthday, Arthur returned from University to find Gemma standing with the biggest grin on her face. Arthur strode over to her and pecked her on the lips. _

_ ‘Why so happy?’ he signed, and rather than replying to him straight away, Gemma walked to the dresser and handed him a slim box. _

_ ‘A late birthday gift.’  _

_ Arthur grinned and signed a lazy one-handed ‘You didn’t have to,’ and Gemma just smiled even wider and shushed him.  _

_ When Arthur took off the lid and read the writing on the material inside, his eyes filled with moisture and he felt a lump develop in his throat. _

_ “Wha- Did… Is this-” Arthur cut off when he had realised he was speaking aloud, and when Gemma placed a delicate finger under his chin and aimed his gaze at her, she tearfully nodded her head. _

_ Arthur dropped the box and ran at her, lifting her from the ground and spinning her until he was dizzy. They kissed and cried and laughed; and then when the moment had passed, Arthur turned to pick up the little baby-vest, embroidered with ‘I love my Daddy’. _

_ Later that week, Esther sobbed happily into his arms when he presented her with a 12-week scan photo. “You’re going to be a Grandmumma now,” he whispered as he embraced her frail form, and she looked up at him with the stars in her eyes. _

_ “You will never understand how proud I am of you, Arthur.” _

 

* * *

 

_ After a slightly troubling pregnancy, Gemma gave birth to a baby boy on the 23rd of March. He was born exactly three weeks before his due date, and weighed in at a tiny 5lb and 13oz.  _

_ Arthur had rarely ever felt love like it in his life. His little family was absolute perfection, and he and Gemma returned home to begin life as young parents. _

_ Gemma had to drop out of University early, and Arthur stayed on until May to achieve his 3rd year pass. Both he and Gemma agreed they would take a gap year before returning to complete the final year of their studies. _

 

* * *

 

_ A week and three days after his first birthday, Milo took his first steps into Daddy’s arms. In the end, neither of them had returned to University. Gemma had been itching to get back to art, and due to her vast knowledge of the subject, she had been awarded an incredible job as artistic director of a local Museum.  _

_ Arthur took on the role of stay-at-home Daddy, and spent most of his time with his Mum. There were good days, where she would embrace Arthur and ask who the charming young baby was. Then there were the worse days, when Arthur would have to leave early after his Mum would ask if he was there to look after her for the day. _

_ She was of a young age to have Dementia, but coupled with her cancer, Arthur could see it was ripping her apart. Still, he managed to take some pictures of her and Milo, and he treasured the moments where she remembered, even if only for a second. _

 

* * *

__

_ One month and six days after Milo’s first birthday, Arthur received the call from the hospital. He drove there as fast as he could, running two red lights on his way. _

_ “Oh, Arthur, how are you?”  _

_ He was greeted with a huge smile, and just like years ago, his Mum was herself again. They talked and talked, and Arthur showed her pictures of Milo, which she proudly cooed over.  _

_ An hour after his arrival, Gemma managed to get there after leaving Milo with her Mother. They all had a fantastic night, and they lit some candles in the private room before Esther settled back into her bed. _

_ “Read to me, Arthur?” she asked him, and he nodded.  _

_ “What would you like me to read?” Arthur knew plenty of short stories by heart after frequently reading to his Mum in hospital. _

_ “Anything. Something old, something to help me keep remembering.” _

_ And so Arthur inhaled deeply and recited the words to the first story he could remember. _

_ “Little Rabbit Foo-Foo riding through the forest, scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head!” _

_ His mother grinned up at him from where she lay, and he looked back down at her with a grin of his own. _

_ “I’m turning you into a goooooooooonieeeee!” _

_ Arthur recited the ending in a high pitched voice, just like his Mum and Dad once had, and she giggled weakly up at him. _

_ “Arthur,” she said, breathless. “There are three envelopes in my draw here. You are to give Gemma hers straight away, and you are to keep yours until you feel you need to open it.” _

_ Arthur gulped as he watched his Mum struggle with her words, and he didn’t dare speak for fear of breaking down. _

_ “It’s alright, son.” she whispered as she shakily reached up to stroke his cheek. “You will always be my miracle, Arthur, now come and give me a cuddle.” _

_ Arthur crawled into the bed, huddling close to his Mum under the blankets and bringing her in for the tightest embrace he could give around the tubes and wires. Her breaths grew deeper and longer, and her muscles relaxed and twitched, and Arthur felt a pain tearing through his entire being, afraid of every approaching second and what it would bring. _

_ A sob tore through him, hissing out of his body in anguish, and his mother gave a gentle “shhhhh” before squeezing his side gently. _

_ He moved his head to look down into her eyes, and he spoke his final words to her. “I love you, Mumma.” _

_ “And Mumma loves you too,” she breathed, and then Arthur watched through his own tears as the twinkle in her eye extinguished. _

_ Esther Covington was cremated, some of her ashes were spread over her husband’s grave where she too had a headstone in her name, and some kept aside to be taken to her favourite places. The rest, Arthur had crafted into two charms; one to hang from a bracelet which Milo would be able to wear as soon as it was made, and another to be embedded into a ring, which Arthur would be willing to wear forever. _

_ He was, from that day on, an orphan. _

 

* * *

 

_ A fortnight after Milo had turned two, Arthur and Gemma noticed that he seemed to be behind with his speech. Of course, this wasn’t an issue with his health, just his laziness. To communicate with his Mother, Milo had also been learning to sign and he was very good at it indeed. It wouldn’t do, however, to have him give up on talking.  _

_ Arthur spent weeks trying out new methods while Gemma wasn’t home. When Milo would ask for something, he would have to say the words whilst he signed. This worked at first, but after a few days it only led to tantrums and high blood pressure on Arthur’s part. _

_ He made accounts on Emma’s Diary, watched vlogs and read articles written by super-mums who had obviously lied about their childrens’ purist behaviours. He gave up for while, signing at Gemma furiously once Milo was in bed so that she would understand how complicated this all was. One night while he vented, she stroked her fingers through his hair and handed him a book written by his own Mother. This book had been released a few months after his Mother’s departure from life, and Arthur hadn’t known anything about it even being written. He nodded tearfully in thanks and put his frets aside. If this was his Mother’s final message to the world then Arthur would read it, then read again and again.  _

_ The book was titled ‘ _ The Song of their Silence’,  _ and Arthur read the Dedications, his heart thrumming nervously in his chest. _

‘In Memory of my loving husband, Albert, who loved me unconditionally through my whole life, you were the only man I ever needed.   
My thanks to Marie, who cared for me in my moments of need. You were a wonderful friend to me in life and I wish you the absolute best.    
To my stunning Gemma. You may not be my relative directly, but you mean more to me than you will ever know. You brought me a beautiful grandson, and you have looked after my own boy through the entirety of his life, even when I couldn’t.    
To my Grandson, Milo. I promise that I know you. I promise, although I may have been confused on seeing your face, that I  _ do _ know you. I have stared at your picture on my unit with longing and I will never forget the feel of your warmth against my own frail skin, or the sound of your mischievous little giggle. You were a blessing to me, and I will love you and watch over you for years and years to come.   
Finally, to my wonderful Arthur. There are not words to describe the way a parent loves their child. I have written many books in many languages, and I am yet to find a phrase that comes anywhere near to living up to my expectations. You are my everything, son. You were my shining light when you were gifted to me, and from there, everything you have ever done has been for the good of others. I have never been more proud of anyone, or more fortunate to have such a caring, selfless young man as my child.    
I wish for you all to live happy, and to grasp life whilst it still lives freely and openly around you; and Arthur? Remember to think of yourself.’

 

* * *

 

_ Arthur had read the first two chapters of his Mother’s book but was too distracted by life to continue to read it. Milo’s behaviour was becoming comparable to what one would call a ‘diva’, and as well as trying to write his own story, he had to make time to see Gemma’s family and go to see the art exhibitions where she had worked.  _

_ For a little while, Arthur felt like he was stuck in a never-ending loop of daily similarities and he began to feel mechanised, like the hands of a clock repeating the same dull actions with every passing second. It wasn’t until he flicked on his record player one day that things changed.   _

_ He hadn’t noticed at first, because he had been far too busy trying to prepare some vegetables for a dinner, but when he heard the little noises coming from the partly-joined dining room, he had set forth to investigate. Milo had been stood, still in his pyjama bottoms, yoghurt dripping down his chest, waving his arms in crazed motions and awkwardly wriggling his knees and hips whilst trying to mimic the melancholic tones of Ewan McLennan. _

_ From then, Arthur spent an entire week singing with his son; and sure enough, Milo began to form clearer and better articulated words. _

 

* * *

 

_ A month, one week and three days after Milo’s second birthday, Arthur and Gemma tucked him up into bed. Gemma signed a story, and as was the habit of new, Arthur sang the words to ‘The Child Inside’, which had fast become one of Milo’s favourites. _

_ That night, Gemma watched them as Arthur sang and Milo signed her the words, and afterwards, when they both pulled up the blankets and kissed their son goodnight, he signed his goodnight words to Gemma and his Father. _

_ “Daddo?” Milo muttered quietly.  Arthur had never liked the routine of leaving Milo to sleep on his own and was happy to stop at the door for an extra second, to glance upon his young son’s tired features once more. _

_ “What’s up, Milo?” Arthur asked, and Milo gestured with his finger. Arthur approached quietly, aware of Gemma’s reappearance in the doorway. He leaned in close and his heart ached when Milo squeezed him tight in a hug once more. _

_ “I love you, Daddo.” _

_ His first full phrase. _

_ Arthur choked back threatening tears and nodded into his son’s hair. “I love you too, my beautiful boy. I love you too.” _

 

* * *

 

_ When Milo was three, he received a tricycle for Christmas. Arthur had been only too happy to attach his Dad’s old bell to the little red trike, and was made up when Milo dinged it at every person they passed on the street as they walked the long route to Gemma’s Mum’s house. After arriving on the less-busy roads nearer Elizabeth’s, Arthur took Milo to the track behind the house, and after 6 tries on his own, Milo was able to ride the trike himself; his feet barely reaching the pedals. _

_ That evening, when they returned home, Gemma showed Arthur the pictures she had taken of them all. He loved the way Milo had inherited Gemma’s curls and and her beautiful smile, and the way he laughed like Esther, the way he looked at Arthur with a world full of stories behind his infant eyes.  _

_ “Eee ’ook ‘ike a’you. ‘ike ‘is Daddy” Gemma spoke. It was rare that she would say more than a single word, and every time she did speak, Arthur wondered how the world must sound when there is only silence to be heard.  _

_ ‘He looks like his Mum, too. He gets his beauty from you, that’s for sure.’ Arthur signed one-handed as he looked at the golden flecks that surrounded his family on the screen of Gemma’s phone. They weren’t overly noticeable; in fact, Arthur had thought it was a defect on his own phone long ago, until he realised that every single picture he, Gemma or Milo had been in contained those little markings. No matter, though, as they didn’t do any damage. _

_ “A’you are beau-ti-tifu’ too. I yove a’you both.” Arthur loved the way Gemma spoke, and the way the words took a unique sound when her mouth navigated around them. “I wish I could ‘ear you sing.” she spoke, sadly. “I wish I could ‘ear Miyo sing too.” _

_ ‘I know. I wish you could too.’ Arthur had put down the phone in order to give the signing his full attention. ‘But I love you for all that you are, and I always have and will. He does too.’ signed Arthur, pointing towards Milo’s room. ‘We both adore you, and you and Milo are my whole life. You raised me as much as my own family, Gemma, and you loved me unconditionally from the start; just as I did you. You are my everything, both of you are.’ _

_ A dewey-eyed Gemma then leaned in, brushing her lips against Arthur’s; and just as it had happened back at prom when he was sixteen, his knees went weak and his heart raced in his chest; and he hoped that love would always feel like this. Like nothing else in the world could touch them, like the bond between them was inseparable, like the natural powers of the earth were surrounding them with something unbreakable, something magical. _

 

* * *

 

_ On Milo’s 4th birthday, Arthur rummaged through a box of his Mother’s belongings to find something which he had been looking forward to giving his son. The wrapped gift (Marie had always wrapped stylishly with bows and ribbons) had been tucked away since Milo was born, and Arthur was instructed by his Mother to only gift it once Milo was starting to read.  _

_ “It’s a book, Daddy! Look, a picture of Nanna Esther!” Milo had exclaimed when he tore the brown paper from the gift, and inside was one of Esther’s children’s books. It was, of course, the first edition with a portrait of Esther on the inside cover. It was a book she had written when Arthur was just a boy, and he watched with pride when Milo stumbled over the opening words. _

_ He loved to read, and he loved to tell his own stories. He was like his Daddy in some ways, but more than anything, Milo liked to tell his stories through song. _

 

* * *

 

_ Arthur and Gemma agreed to send Milo to a public school. Of course, through Arthur’s overwhelming inheritance money, they could afford to have Milo privately tutored, but they both agreed that more could be learned in life with the company of other people and the integration into society. After his first day, Milo returned home with a beaming smile. The teachers were astounded with his sign language as well as his speech, and just like when Arthur had started secondary school, Milo had been teaching the other students how to sign different greetings.  _

_ When Gemma invited Milo’s friend, Dylan, around for dinner a couple of weeks into school, Dylan was astounded by the dynamic in their home. Though he was only 4 years of age, he admired the sketches and paintings that were strewn around their house and how every time someone spoke, both Arthur and Milo signed out the words being spoken, even when Gemma wasn’t in the room. This was just how their family worked, and Arthur wouldn’t change it for anything. _

 

* * *

 

_ In the first week of November, Milo sprinted into Arthur’s arms at the school gate with joyful tears in his eyes. _

_ “Daddy! I have a letter for you, you have to read it! It’s super-duper exciting!” He half-signed, half-squealed, and Arthur responded with a nod and an easy laugh as he took the enveloped letter from Milo’s cold hands. _

_ Dear Parent/Carer of Milo Covington. _

_ We are delighted to inform you that your son has been selected to lead the choir at this years Christmas tour. Your son will, with your permission, be performing at four different locations within the city, including a public performance at the town’s Christmas light switch-on. _

_ Your son has shown a lot of potential and is very musically talented, and so we wish to work with him on pursuing this talent.  _

_ Please find attached two permission slips which should be signed and returned back to us as soon as possible. _

_ Yours Sincerely, _ _   
_ _ Mrs. V. Moca. (Headteacher) _

_ Arthur felt his entire body warm up and he wasn’t even aware of Milo screeching in his ear with excitement until an unfamiliar voice sounded nearby. _

_ “Are you alright, Mr. Covington?” the short, grey-haired woman asked and Arthur snapped out of his reverie momentarily, shaking his head vigorously as he tried to cope with his emotions. _

_ “I ca- I just… I can’t believe it.” he gasped, staring back at the letter, his grin rousing a soreness in his cheeks that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Not since his Mother had died. “He… he could barely even speak, he was j-” _

_ Arthur broke off with a half-stifled sob and a tear made its way out of the corner of his eye, alone and daring as it traced a line down over his aching cheekbone.  _

_ “He has a truly wonderful voice when he puts his all into it, Mr Covington. A truly angelic voice.”  _

_ That evening after Gemma came home from work, Arthur sobbed as he handed her the letter and they embraced each other with pride in their son’s marvellous achievement. _

* * *

 

_ On Arthur’s 26th birthday, he opened up an envelope from Gemma which had contained a receipt. They were to have a 2-night stay in a cabin the lake district. Gemma gushed happily as she showed him images of the secluded land where they would be staying, and how the imagery would evoke ideas for both Arthur’s writing and her own art. Though he was apprehensive about leaving Milo with Elizabeth for so long, Arthur agreed that a break for just the two of them would be a nice treat. _

 

* * *

 

_ In the natural order of things, Arthur’s Quashqai had troubles on the drive to the lakes, and after a three hour wait in the wind and sleet, they were on their way once more. _

_ What had meant to be a five hour journey, took nine hours and when they got to their cabin they headed straight to bed; their first day wasted.   _

_ On their second day, they wandered hand-in-hand into Keswick, where Arthur made a very spontaneous and very un-Arthur-ish decision. _

_ ‘You’re barking mad.’ Gemma signed at him with a snicker as they stood outside the tattoo parlour.  _

_ ‘Oh come on, it’s not like we haven’t talked about it before. We already know what we are going to get!’ Arthur signed madly as he spoke, and all Gemma could do was laugh at him. _

_ ‘I bet you pussy out. You’re going first!’ she responded and Arthur nodded in agreement before taking her hand and dragging her inside. _

_ Five hours later, Gemma and Arthur had matching tattoos. The back of Gemma’s neck bore a small black and white daisy, a book nestled below it. Arthur’s forearm bore a chain of the same daisies, loosely wrapped around a black and grey paintbrush. _

_ Of course, Arthur couldn’t get a tattoo just for Gemma, Now, on his left rib, were the words ‘There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you’, a quote by Maya Angelou which his Mother had framed on her wall for as long as Arthur could remember, and above his right breast was the delicate footprint of a 1-day-old Milo.  _

_ ‘You’re crackers,’ Gemma signed one-handed as she drove them back to the cabin. That evening they stayed up late and talked about anything and everything, and when the rain had died off, they made their way outside and started a little fire with some of the logs from the burner. _

_ “This is a’ so beautifu’. I ‘ove a’you, Ar-thur” Gemma mumbled and Arthur rested his head on her shoulder and signed his reply into her hand. _

_ ‘I love you too, Gemma.’  _

_ As the wood crackled beside them, sending puffs of orange and yellow embers into the air, Arthur turned to face the woman he loved so very much. The golden glow illuminating her red hair as though the light was radiating from her. Those emerald eyes glistened in the terracotta haze and Arthur took in every detail. The long, tight curls that hung freely by her face and down past her chest, the generous sprinkling of freckles that coated her skin, and the way her long eyelashes fluttered when her breath hitched in her throat. _

_ She pushed herself up on to her knees and caught Arthur’s lips with her own, and it was unlike anything he had felt in years. They kissed deep and slow, Arthur’s hands buried deep in that mane of hair, and Gemma’s arms tights around Arthur’s back as she dug her deft fingertips down through his shirt and into his skin. _

_ She was truly perfect, and Arthur had never seen another in his life to whom he could compare her to. He had seen her through every stage of her life, and she had always been a thing of beauty; but Arthur had never appreciated how much she had truly filled out. _

_ His hand tickled a gentle pattern down the back of her neck, over the warm swollen skin where she had gotten a tattoo for  _ him,  _ and then down over her collarbone, eliciting a gentle squeak from her throat; barely there, but there nonetheless. Then, he brushed down over her black vest top to cup a warm, plump breast. Her nipples were already stiff under the thin material, and when he pulled a thumbnail across the skin there, Gemma thrust herself closer to him, rubbing up against the hardness in his jeans. _

_ Then, she took his hand in hers and entwined their fingers and she sucked Arthur’s bottom lip into her mouth, digging her teeth into the soft flesh there. She pulled her hand back slightly, and traced the word into his palm. _

_ ‘Please.’ _

_ Arthur sunk back down onto his behind from where he had been kneeling, and taking a warm, thick thigh in his hand, he pulled Gemma down onto his lap. He thrusted his groin upwards and the friction was too much and nowhere near enough. He mouthed and tongued and bit at his girlfriend’s collarbone, and much to his surprise, she responded in kind with a moan so dirty that he flushed with so much heat from head to toe that he thought he’d combust with it. _

_ He felt an urge now, a need, and so he made quick work of pulling her black top up over her head, causing her hair to stick up all over with the static, and her breasts to jiggle against Arthur’s chest. _

_ There was more kissing, wanton and desperate now; and on their blanket by the fireside, they undressed each other until they were just wearing the skin that they were born in. _

_ ‘So beautiful.’ Arthur signed against Gemma’s palm as he settled between her legs, and she tried to sign something back, but her motions were cut off short when Arthur sucked her nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the sensitive, bumpy skin. With his right hand, he trailed his fingers slowly up the inside of her cold thigh, teasing and tickling, until he reached the crease where leg met groin. Gemma whimpered loudly into the empty clearing around them, and Arthur pulled his hand up to meet the wetness between her legs. It was easy to slide in one finger at first, angling it upward slightly where he knew she liked to be stroked, and his thumb caressed her warm clit in gentle circular motions that he knew drove her crazy with impatience.  _

_ Adding an extra finger, he pulled his lips off Gemma’s nipple; dragging his teeth over it as he did so. ‘So wet,’ he signed into her right hand with his left, and she gasped at the filth of it. Their sex was usually very quiet; Gemma not making a single sound and Arthur not needing to say anything and not being able to sign whilst his hands were busy with other things, but not today. ‘So hot for me.’ he added, and Gemma let out a high pitched ‘ah’ when Arthur’s tongue dipped down into her navel. ‘So vocal for me.’ _

_ Arthur shifted his body slightly and lay stomach-down between Gemma’s spread legs. The recently-shaven stubs of reddenned hair glowed in the firelight, and Arthur watched as his two fingers fucked into her, reemerging soaking wet. He inhaled deeply, cherishing her unique scent before replacing his thumb with his tongue, his left hand still in her right. ‘You taste so good.’ _

_ Gemma’s shout cracked through the air like a whip, harsh against the gentle sound of the fire and the breeze, and Arthur ground his crotch down into the floor to try and find a little relief. He wasn’t going to hold out. _

_ There was something about being in the outdoors, surrounded by nothing but the magic of the earth and the air and the stars. Here, making love to the most beautiful woman to ever walk upon the Earth, Arthur was truly happy.  _

_ He shifted himself once more, pulling his fingers from her wet heat and positioning her leg around his hip before leaning down, propped up on his right elbow. He breathed fast into the tiny space between them and he saw the reflection of his own blue eyes, alight with fire, in those that he looked into. _

_ They stayed like that, for a second or an eternity, and then when Gemma staggered on an exhale; he pushed himself inside of her, rock hard and aching. This time the noise was low, guttural; and Arthur couldn’t hold back. He grunted, animalistic, and thrust into her time and time again watching the way she came apart at his touch. It hadn’t felt like this in years. _

_ The fire continued to illuminate the near and empty surroundings and Arthur had to really concentrate to be able to ask, his fingers working the sign into Gemma’s hand. ‘I want to really fuck you,’ and as he signed it, a “oh my holy fuck” fell out of his mouth. She barely even nodded, but it was there. _

_ He withdrew his dick fast and grasped the underside of Gemma’s thighs, forcing her legs up and apart in a rush, pressing her knees into the outsides of her luscious breasts. Just looking at her like this was almost too much; her flexibility astounding and the curves of her round hips causing Arthur to throb hard and heavy. “Fuck.” she was so pliant and willing and, Jesus, he must have done something truly heroic in a past life to deserve this.  _

_ “Ar-thur p’ease!” Gemma’s cries pulled him back into reality and without so much as a second thought, he positioned himself over her, a leg bent to allow the deepest penetration, and he fucked into her again and again, fucking and never stopping fucking; and when he pinched at her nipples and squeezed at her arse and kissed her,  _ God, when he kissed her,  _ she cried and yelped and she fucking screamed with pleasure.  _

_ He didn’t care who heard, he didn’t care what people might think. This was a sound he’d never ever forget, and the one he’d think of every time they shagged again.  _

_ He was barely holding on, thrusting and jack hammering so fast he hadn’t known he was able to, and when she let out one final whimper, her moist tightness pulsing around him, he fucked her through it until he too was shouting and coming and coming and  _ fucking coming. 

_ The following day, they stayed later to watch the early evening sunset. On a short wooden jetty overlooking an ever-still and golden Derwentwater, Arthur got down on one knee behind her, last minute photographer at the ready, and he proposed.  _

_ Of course, she said yes. _

 

* * *

 

_ On a chilly Wednesday evening in December, Arthur and Gemma headed, hand-in-hand, to the centre of town where they waited anxiously to see their boy sing.  _

_ ‘Has he told you what he’s singing?’ Gemma signed after they took a seat on the grass a little in front of the staging area.  _

_ ‘No, said it’s a surprise. They’re only doing the one song though.’ Arthur answered and Gemma nodded, worry clear in her eyes. ‘He’ll do great, you know he will.’ Arthur signed reassuringly and Gemma tried for a smile, though it hadn’t met her eyes. _

_ ‘Just wish I could hear him.’  _

_ Arthur understood, but as always, he hadn’t the words to make it better; and so he pulled her close to him, resting her between his thighs so she could lean back into his chest. Here, he tickled swirling patterns onto the pale band of freckled wrist sticking out of her sleeve, watching as act after act came and left the stage. _

_ “Next up, we’d like to introduce the choir of Oxford Infant School, lead by the wonderfully talented, 4-year-old, Milo Covington!” _

_ Applause ripped through the heavily populated park around them, and Arthur dragged Gemma to her feet and pointed to where the choir began to walk across the stage; twenty, thirty, forty students lining up in organised rows, and one young boy with short blonde ringlets and piercing green eyes took his place in front of a microphone stand in front of them all. _

_ Gemma gripped Arthur’s wrist and he tore his eyes away from the stage for a moment, soaking in the way she looked up at their son with nothing other than pride and happiness and love. He was lucky, so very very lucky. _

_ The gentle tinkling of a piano drew his attention back to the stage, and recognition swept over him. He turned his hand in Gemma’s and signed the song title into her hand; the gentle squeeze of her fingers the only response she seemed able to muster.  _

_ He looked up to Milo’s eyes and saw the way they scanned the crowd, searching and searching until they settled on Arthur’s. _

_ “I walked across and empty land, I knew the pathway like the path of my hand. I felt the earth beneath my feet, sat by the river, and it made me complete.” _

_ Arthur fought hard against the lump in his throat as the gentle soprano tones of his infant son resonated through the silence around them. His voice angelic, his technique flawless. _

_ “Oh simple thing, where have you gone? I’m getting tired and I need someone to rely on.” _

_ There was a pause and the entire choir inhaled all at once, then with some “ooh”s and “ahh”s, they accompanied Milo’s falsetto tones with various harmonies, the mangle of voices causing Arthur’s skin to tighten and his stomach to flutter; and next to him, Gemma looked over him with eyes full of wonder. _

_ ‘It must be beautiful,’ she signed as she lifted her hand to brush a tear from Arthur’s cheek. _

_ “Oh simple thing, where have you gone? I’m getting old and I need something to rely on.” _

_ And then the choir held out their hands and Milo’s gaze drifted from Arthur’s to Gemma’s with the biggest, most innocently mischievous smile Arthur had ever seen. _

_ “And if you have a minute why don’t we go, and talk about it somewhere only we know,” _

_ Arthur grabbed Gemma around the waist when her knees buckled beneath her, and Arthur stared in awe as the entire choir signed every word with ease and precision.  _

_ “This could be the end of everything, so why don’t we go somewhere only we know.” _

_ A sob cut through the music and Gemma trembled in his arms, her hand over her mouth as she looked up at their selfless, wonderful son. Their son to looked back at them with so much joy, adoration and devotion that Arthur too had to stifle more tears. _

_ “Oh simple thing, where have you gone? I’m getting old and I need something to rely on. So, tell me when you’re going to let me in, I’m getting tired and I need somewhere to begin.” _

_ As the choir continued on with the lyrics and sign in a melody of colourful song, Milo stepped closer to the microphone, his signs one step ahead of the words that fell from his mouth. _

_ “I really like singing with my Daddo at home, but my Mumma can’t hear me sing. So, I decided that I would teach everyone how to get my Mumma to hear us.” and then Milo held out his hands in a gesture, and Gemma took off up the stairs to the stage, picking up their son in an embrace whilst Arthur stood, winded with emotion, at the love of his perfect family. His absolutely perfect family. _

 

* * *

 

_ On the evening of Milo’s 5th birthday, after his little tea party at a local play centre, Arthur and Gemma tucked him into bed. Gemma signed Milo his favourite story written by one Esther Covington, and then kissed his forehead before whispering ‘Good-night Mi-yo’. Arthur smiled at the loving stare between the two of them, and pulled Milo’s blankets up so he could tuck one side over his ear, just how he liked it.  _

_ “What song tonight then?” Arthur asked, and though he was expecting Milo to choose his usual Ewan McLennan song, he actually opted for Esther’s old favourite. _

_ “Bonnie boat, Daddo, bonnie boat.” Milo squeaked happily and Arthur huffed a laugh. _

_ “It’s called The Skye Boat Song, you plonker.” he said, pinching Milo’s nose before humming the opening notes. _

_ “Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on a wing. Onwards the Sailors cry. Carry the lad that’s born to be king over the sea to Skye. _

_ Loud the wind howls, loud the waves roar, thunderclaps rend the air. Baffled, our foes stand on the shore. Follow, they will not dare. Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on a wing. Onwards the Sailors cry. Carry the lad that’s born to be king over the sea to Skye.” _

_ Arthur had been expecting Milo to join in at some point, but then his quiet falsetto whispered from under the mattress in a perfectly sang harmony, Arthur could feel his heart trying to squeeze out of his ribcage.  _

_ “Many’s the lad fought on that day, well the claymore did wield. When the night came, silently lain, dead on Colloden field. Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on a wing. Onwards the Sailors cry. Carry the lad that’s born to be king over the sea to Skye.  _

_ Though the waves heave, soft will ye sleep; ocean’s a royal bed. Rocked in the deep, flora will keep watch by your weary head. Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on a wing. Onwards the Sailors cry. Carry the lad that’s born to be king over the sea to Skye. Mmmmm… ” _

_ They ended on a pretty perfect harmony, and Milo sprung up out of his bed, throwing his arms around Arthur’s neck. “That’s my favourite song now Daddo, because I like it when you sing it to me. I like the king on the boat! I think he looks like you, Daddo!” _

_ Arthur smiled to himself and patted Milo on the back of the head. “Well then, son, you dream about the king on the boat and I will see you bright and early in the morning. You get to have your second birthday with Nanna Elizabeth and Aunty Devon tomorrow!” _

_ Milo slithered back under the covers and smiled up at his Dad. “I can’t wait. I love you, Daddo.” he whispered and Arthur leaned in to kiss his golden curls. _

_ “I love you too, Milo.” _

_ Only after Arthur met Gemma outside the doorway, he realised she had been recording; and as he watched the video back, something struck him as unusual. _

_ He loved everything about the video, the emotion and the love captured perfectly, but there was something missing. For the first time in his life, Arthur was watching a home video with no golden embers floating around Milo’s body. Of course, they still floated around his own face, so he put it down to the darkness in the room. The golden tendrils would be back next time, no doubt. _

 

* * *

 

_ After buckling Milo into his little car seat and seeing he and Gemma of with a quick kiss, Arthur grabbed his scattered handfuls of notes from around the house and sat in the middle of his bed with his laptop open. He had to get more of this damn thing written. _

_ He’d been playing with ideas for some time over this novel and it wasn’t that he’d been short of ideas. It was that he’d had too many. He played around with an introduction, flitting between tenses and POVs and moving sentences around, and then he grabbed at the drawings Gemma had sketched of his main character. The pale, dark-haired young man always stood prominent in his mind like a face he felt he knew, though whenever he tried to describe him he found his brain had turned slightly foggy; wrought with the will to procrastinate. _

_ He flicked on the local radio and tried his best to zone in on his work, not wanting the silence to squeeze his thoughts with too much tension and stress. He worked on a few lines and then scrapped the intro, opting for a later section instead. Then as he paid little heed to the road closures and traffic updates regarding a crash near town, he found himself writing a completely new idea that had nothing at all to do with his novel. _

_ “Oh, for fuck sake.” he huffed, ignorantly signing his frustration at the same time before tossing his pencil at a wall and slamming his laptop shut. He’d just stormed into the bathroom and started to take a leak when he heard his phone ringing back in the bedroom. _

_ “Seriously?!” he shouted, forcing out the last of his piss and making a mad dash, trousers halfway up, into the bedroom. _

_ “Hello?” he asked, probably a little too aggressively. _

_ “Hello, is this Mr. Covington?” a young, professional sounding man asked from the other end. Arthur ran his palm down his face with a silent groan. _

_ “Yes it is, who it is?” he asked, patience wearing thin. _

_ “Hello Mr. Covington, this is Dr. Isaacs from Oxford Royal, I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to come to the emergency depar…” _

_ Arthur dropped the phone to the floor as his brain mentally skipped back to his new idea and the words he had heard in the background. _

“Roads are still closed on Park End Street due to a crash on the roundabout. Diversions have been set up but if you can, it’s best to avoid the area completely. We will give a further announcement when the lorry has been moved from the road.”

_ Arthur’s throat ran dry and before he knew it he was in a taxi. He wasn’t paying attention to anything at all other than the picture on the OxfordNow facebook page where a lorry lay on it’s side, under it, Arthur’s white Nissan Quashqai.  _

_ He tried to avoid the comments and the pictures but he needed to know, he  _ needed to fucking know.  _ He threw a twenty note at the driver who refused to pull into the carpark in case  he was fined and Arthur ran and he ran, his eyes still flitting over the comments whilst the sound of his own pulse throbbed though his ears. _

_ ‘I was there, I’m not sure which, but one of them was announced dead on arrival. My prayers to their family. Xxx’ _

_ A sob ripped through him as he tore through the doors to the A&E reception and he didn’t know what or where but there was a woman in uniform and he was screaming, screaming at her ‘Which one is dead? Please, you have to tell me, which one of them!’ and when she opened her mouth he didn’t hear, all he could hear was the noise of his despair ripping through him, blowing him to pieces from the inside. _

_ He wasn’t sure how long it had been but there was a doctor sat on a seat in front of him, the wrinkles on his eyes a sharp contrast to his young face. The stress of the job, Arthur presumed.  _

_ “Mr. Covington, it’s absolutely vital that you listen to me. There was an accident-” _

_ “The crash, I know.” Arthur whimpered, his voice a separate entity from his own body. _

_ “Yes. The lorry lost control and it would appear that your girlfriend had swe-” _

_ “My fiancé.” corrected Arthur and the Dr. just swallowed. _

_ “Arthur, please. I regret to have to tell you this, and we are on hand with all of the support you need.” The doctor looked at him and Arthur nodded for him to go on, attempting to tense his muscles in order to ease the coming news. _

_ “Your fiancé swerved to try and avoid the lorry, but the car got trapped on the roundabout, meaning when the lorry fell, the Quashqai was caught underneath. The paramedics were there instantly and one of our off-duty surgeons was in the area and he got there first. With some help he managed to shatter a window to check for life, and I am incredibly sorry to have to tell, Mr Covington, that your fiancé passed away immediately.” _

_ Just like that, the world fell away from beneath Arthur. He grasped at the chairs, at the air, at the memories of paintbrushes and hands and red curls and green eyes and he’d give anything,  _ anything _. _

_ “Please,” he cried, sinking from the chair to his knees. “Please, I can’t be without her. She has been my everything for my whole life, she is all I’ve ever known and loved and I ca- I jus- I need her, please. Please” _

_ Arthur cried into the Dr’s knee and dragged his fingers through his own hair, pulling to make sure it was real and God, how he didn’t want it to be real. _

_ “Mr. Covington, yo-” _

_ “She can’t be d- she can’t be! She was going to be my wife! We were going to have our whole lives together, please bring her back, bring her back!” _

_ “Mr. Covington, we have done everything that we can but our attentions at the moment are better devoted to your son.” _

_ Oh god, Milo. Arthur had barely, he hadn’t even- _

_ “Your son was unconscious and bleeding very heavily when we got him out. He has a massive swelling on the brain and is currently in surgery. We are trying our very best, but the chances are, that if he makes it through the surgery, he will suffer from extensive, lifelong brain damage. His spine is broken in two places and he will be paralysed, though we aren’t sure yet to what extent. Mr. Covington, until he is out of surgery we can not allow you to see him, but you are more than welcome to spend the time with your fiancé.” _

_ There were no words. _

_ Arthur couldn’t even breathe, let alone speak.  _

_ He found himself following the Dr., Dr. Isaac, to a private room. _

_ “Please don’t be too alarmed, Mr. Covington. Her body hasn’t been fully cleaned and she is still in a bad way. There will be a member of staff just here if you need us.” _

_ No matter what he did or what he thought or what he’d imagined or what anything had ever been, there was nothing at all Arthur could have done to prepare for what his eyes fell upon. _

_ He paused just inside as the door closed quietly behind him and he looked over to what little he could see on the bed. There was blood. A lot of blood. He slammed his eyes shut and mashed a palm into his forehead, trying to erase the image from his mind right away, but still knowing there was more he had to see.  _

_ He stared at the floor as he stepped closer, until there was a set of feet in his vision, lain awkwardly on the bed. One red converse hi-top, stained with the dirtier red of blood, and one black sock, half hanging off the foot. His hands moved before his brain registered what he was doing, and he pulled up and straightened the sock back over her foot. She hated her socks being twisted. _

_ He allowed his eyes to skirt further up her body, slow with absolutely suffocating fear. There were a few tears in her jeans and a big gash to her calf where the blood was still red, still fresh. A new sob ripped through him and he reached into his hair, pulling to try and ground himself once more. Her right knee was broken, her leg positioned in what would have been a normal manner if it weren’t for the bone protruding through the skin over her kneecap. _

_ “What did they do to you?” he quivered as his eyes moved up, torturously up until there was more blood, and a hole in her side. Something had been stuck there, and it had been removed later, allowing the pain to bleed out the way Arthur’s was now, out of the hole in his life that she used to fill. _

_ Her coat wasn’t there, and her green vest,  _ God,  _ she loved green, was torn up the side, blood smeared all down one side of it; her still-bouncy ginger curls caught twisted in the arm. He untangled her hair, feeling how smooth it still felt, how alive it still felt.  _

_ Finally,  _ finally,  _ he took a deep breath and there she was, those breathtaking, emerald eyes closed forever.  _

_ He ran a thumb across the larger freckles, tracing the same pattern as always under her eyes, across her nose and up to her brow. She was so beautiful, so utterly, unbelievably beautiful, and she had been his. _

_ And now she was gone. _

_ He bowed down over her body and buried his nose in her bloodied hair, and on inhaling deeply, needily, he could still smell the almond and macadamia of her shampoo. _

_ He wondered how it could be, that she could look, smell, feel so unlike herself, pale and unmoving; and yet so similar in death as in life. _

 

* * *

 

_ It had been a long time, there had been dreams of daisies and paintings and sunsets, and Arthur was being massaged on the shoulder by the man who held the power to make or break him. _

_ “Your son is out of surgery, Mr. Covington.” _

_ Arthur sat up from where his head was nestled on the bed, where he had signed ‘I love you’ repeatedly, time and time again into his fiancé’s palm until his body could take no more.  _

_ “Where is…” Arthur trailed off when his eyes met those of Dr Isaac’s, and just when he thought that nothing could get any worse, that there might be something left- _

_ “Mr Covington, your son is in the intensive care unit. We have managed to stifle the bleeding on the brain but the swelling won’t go down. We also assessed the damage and your son is paralysed from the neck down. He is very heavily sedated and we will keep his body on life support for as long as you need. I am very sorry, Arthur.” _

_ There was nothing. No tears, no sobbing, nothing left at all for Arthur to feel. He squeezed Gemma’s hand once more and kissed the dried blood on her arm. His brain had probably switched off quite some time ago and his body was working on muscle memory, taking him where he needed to be. He saw what was happening around him but it didn’t register; for he knew there was only one place where he needed to be.  _

_ This time, it wasn’t anything like the quiet, dimly lit room he had come from. This time there was a haunting kind of serenity. This time, though, there was still the same crushing finality. _

_ Milo lay in a huge bed, his tiny frail form hooked up with tubes and wires to god knows what. Half of his white curls gone from his head, replaced by a fresh bandage from his surgery. The sounds of machinery polluted the room and Arthur hadn’t even noticed that he had fell to his knees until there were two sets of arms pulling him up. _

_ Dr Isaac and the nurse had said something, lots of things, but Arthur didn’t hear. He didn’t hear his own cries, his own screams. He didn’t hear anything other than the sound of that one machine in the room whose noises matched up to the rise and fall of his son’s exposed chest. _

_ What he wouldn't give to replace them, what he wouldn’t do to stop this all from happening. God, what he wouldn’t do. _

_ He didn’t know how long he sat there but light and dark had passed and people came and went.  _

_ “Arthur, darling, you should get home and get some sleep.” Elizabeth was just as distraught, having lost a child and with Milo in his current state, and it showed on her face. Arthur hadn’t recalled seeing her eating at all, and he hadn’t even spoken a word to her in however long. He hadn’t spoken a word to anyone. _

_ “No.” It was all he could say without breaking.  _

_ He’d always gotten on fantastically with Elizabeth, but never had she hugged him before. He felt her arm curl around his back and she pulled him in close and touched a hand to his cheek. _

_ “You look at me, Arthur Covington. I know how much this hurts, Christ knows I know, but you mustn’t neglect yourself.” _

_ The next words fell from his mouth before he could think. It was all he had thought about from the moment he’d seen his boy’s broken body before him, and the words sounded so alien, so unlike anything he’d ever say-but he said them, and he looked up into Elizabeth’s emerald green eyes as he did so. _

_ “We need to turn him off, don’t we?” _

_ His voice caught at the end and he choked back his emotions, and when his was-to-be Mother-in-law nodded with tears in her eyes, he finally gave in to his anguish. _

_ People came to say their goodbyes to Milo that night, and after they had all left and Elizabeth gave Milo a heart-wrenching kiss on the head and a “I’ll see you next time, buddy”, Arthur had the chance to finally be alone with his son. _

_ It took some time to find the words, but once he started, he couldn’t stop. _

_ “You know, when I was your age, I thought that your Mumma was the best thing in my life. She was everything to me. And as I grew, things were taken from me. Your Grandad, your Nanna, and now your Mumma too. You know, she was the best thing in my life, but so are you. Y-you will a… you will always be in my heart, sunshine. Always. Christ, it was only a few days ago that you smiled at me and waved me goodbye before you took off and n-now I… _

_ You’re such a beautiful boy, Milo, and you are my life, my bones, my soul and my heart. I-I don’t want to have to let you go but you, you have to go with Mumma, on the bonnie boat, okay?” _

_ He took Milo’s hand and rubbed circles into the barely warm skin and he watched the rise and fall of his son’s chest, until it became slower and slower, and his breaths became raspy and forced. _

_ “God,” Arthur sobbed, and he dipped his head onto his boys chest and let himself cry and cry and cry, hearing that little heart try its very best; he always had been a trier, ever since learning to sing. Then, as he pushed his fingers to his sons palm and signed ‘I love you,’ repeatedly until it became natural, he sang, because it’s what Milo would have wanted. _

_ “Though the waves heave, soft will ye sleep; ocean’s a royal bed. Rocked in the deep, flora will keep watch by your weary head.” He didn’t care that his voice was hoarse, or how he could barely utter a word without bawling.  “Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on a wing. Onwards the Sailors cry. Carry the lad that’s born to be king over the sea to Skye.” _

 

_ A joint ceremony was held for Gemma Baker and Milo Covington on April 2nd, and Arthur realised on that day that he had no one left.  _

_ No one. _

 

* * *

 

_ When Arthur turned 27, he left Oxford for good. The city became too much, and the pressure of having to work and taking such a different path was crippling him. He missed his life, his family. _

_ He did it rather spontaneously. He planned a trip there to scatter some more of his Mum’s ashes and he saw in the local news that the property was for sale. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he felt he had to. So he bought a van, packed his most precious belongings and said a heartfelt goodbye to the home that gave him so much, and the home that took too much away. _

_ He traveled for more than 8 hours, his mind only on what lay ahead, because it hurt too much to look back. He had bought the little library-turned-bookshop up in some hills in a little Scottish Village called Tillicoultry, and he planned on staying there for as long as he could, secluded from the hustle and bustle of a city life, a life he once held so dear. _

_ The bookshop was dusty and smelled of old paper, but it was beautiful, and it had the most spectacular view overlooking the village from the hills. Arthur knew he’d fit right in with just a little tweaking, and his home situated beside the library was so quiet, so peaceful.  _

_ Maybe he’d done it because it was a change and he was feeling adventurous, or maybe because he liked the feel of the place-or maybe, after hearing the old barman say that the library was Esther Covington’s favourite place in the whole world, Arthur felt like it was another piece of his mother to have in his life. _

 


	4. Present Day

The light lit up the inside of his eyes with a warm, red glow. He stretched his limbs, the unwelcome feeling of the cold chill embracing the bare skin of his legs as they slid from under the heat of the duvet. 

He sat up too quick, the movement causing the feeling of static inside of his head as his feet settled on the dark wood floor.  _ The floor. _

Then, he remembered. He opened his eyes, gripping the edge of his mattress as he leaned forwards to look ahead. For six months there had been scaffolding, window-boards and the dull feeling of never-ending work; but Arthur had been stubborn. Together with some locals and some builders brought in from Alloa, they grafted and grafted. He had left the library mostly the way it was, but with the addition of an extra back building with a view of the stream. His house, however, had been on its last legs. The brickwork had been old and the gardens and the interior had needed completely stripping back to nothing and re-designed. Of course, he discussed it all with James, one of the older locals who seemed to know the ins and outs of the entire place.

So, they gutted the place, took the whole place apart and restored it back to its former glory with a hint of modernisation to suit Arthur’s needs. McCrae house had been something of a small manor and it had been no easy feat. But now, as Arthur rose from his bed and strolled to the ceiling-to-floor window, the sun illuminating his still-tanned skin, he knew it had all been worth it.

The sun was rising in the east, casting a hazy golden fog on the village below him. The hills to his left, still half cast in shadow with their tops sprinkled with snow, somehow looked grander than normal. To his right, the library stood idle, no more tampering to be done now. Today was the day.

His fingers came to rest over the golden oval around his neck, and he smiled to himself, still blessed to have been given what he’d had. 

‘You both would have loved this’ he signed over the locket, and then he looked back out over his new home one more time, before getting himself ready for the day ahead.

 

* * *

 

“Here he is, the bonny wee lad! Y’alright son?”

Arthur took the steps at a light jog; a little more spring in his step, he thought, than he’d had in a long time.

“James, I’m glad you made it up this early!” Arthur grinned, and took James’ calloused hand in his own, returning the firm shake of a man who had lived, and grafted, in the little old village his entire life.

“Dinnae call me tha’ son, you’re no’ me Da.” James scolded, and Arthur snorted.

“Sorry, Jimmy. Honestly, though, it’s barely eight o’clock. Why are you up here this early?” 

Jimmy tugged at his worn leather satchel and pulled out a rolled up newspaper, thrusting it with keen intent into Arthur’s chest.

“Looks like you’re famous, laddy. Here, gi’us the keys and a’ll make you a cuppa while you soak tha’ up.”

Arthur gave Jimmy a sideways glance, which was returned with a knowing smirk. After handing over the keys, Jimmy opened the door and pushed inside, heading straight for the tearoom, Arthur presumed. Meanwhile, Arthur leaned over the reception desk, unrolling the cold copy of ‘Tillicoultry Daily’.

**_‘London Laddie saves McCrae Library’_ **

“Christ, Les knows I’m not from London.” Arthur laughed.

“Aye, an’ tha’s why he wrote it, fer tha’ reaction!” Jimmy bellowed from down the corridor, and Arthur shook his head a little; his smirk betraying his fondness of the people around him.

**_‘Arthur Covington, 27, from London has become the youngest person to have full ownership of McCrae estate. With the eager help of the locals and a strong, enthusiastic mind, the young man has rebuilt the estate from top to bottom, including a full refurbishment of McCrae house._ **

**_The land was sold by the anonymous, estranged daughter of Douglas McCrae who sadly passed away some ten years ago. Since then, the village have kept the land with the assistance and funding of some local projects. However, the land was put up for sale in March._ **

**_Fortunately for Tillicoultry, Arthur James Covington (former writing student and hopeful novelist) was able to work with the community in building a new library with a loan-scheme bookstore. The library opens today at 10am. See pages 3-6 for exclusive images and an interview with the village’s local hero.’_ **

“Local hero, Jesus Christ.”

“Y’know wha’ he’s like, has tae get folk on your side, y’know? No’ like they’re no’ already on your side o’course.” Jimmy muttered as he strode to the desk. Arthur’s brain seemed to fire into gear at the first smell of a strongly brewed coffee and he slid the paper behind his chair. “A still think you’re off your rocker, son. Twenty-seven years old and you’re no’ gonnae make a penny fae this.”

Honestly, Arthur didn’t know why he was doing it either, other than for his Mum. Either way, he felt somehow drawn to this place, like he belonged here; and everyone treated him as such.

“Guess I’m just a nice person,” Arthur joked and he and Jimmy set about doing some final checks and ensuring everything was in place. Jessie, Jimmy’s wife, arrived with some friends just before opening to help out with teas and coffees. 

They were just about set; banners up and speeches prepared, when Arthur stepped outside to take one last breath of crisp, clean air. He took in the view once more, the village, alive with movement and excitement, the smell of-

Arthur swung around, first glancing at his own home to ensure he hadn’t left the log burner lit, but his eyes were drawn to the chimney of house McPenn, which stood some distance to the rear-east of his own home, a little further up the hill.

“Looks like ol’ Emrys is home.” hummed Jessie, rubbing her hands on her apron as she stepped alongside him. “He’s absolutely barkin’ tha’ one. No doubt yae’ll meet him for yersel’ soon enough, though.” She shot him a wink, her eyes twinkling with an energy that was reminiscent of of a younger, more dramatic lady. There was no doubt in Arthur’s mind that Jessie would have been quite the catch back in the day. 

She gave him a gentle pat on the back and headed back inside. Arthur couldn’t help but chortle to himself when he followed her through the door.

“Look, Jennie! Your boyfriend is back an’ he’s go’ the fire lit for you!”

“I swear by my good bloody life that you’re lassie is gonnae be gettin’ her mouth stitched up before the night, Jimmy!”

Arthur cackled when Jennie’s face grew red. She was younger than the others, in her forties Arthur reckoned, but she had a beautiful, young face framed by silky brunette hair.

“Don’t pretend you didn’ae enjoy tha’ night, Jennie! It’s all you blethered on abou’ fer a week!”

Arthur joked with his new friends, and learned all about Jennies one-night-stand with batty, old man Emrys, and about another few decades of gossip that had been rife in the city, all of which somehow related back to either this Emrys bloke or to Jimmy.

They talked and drank tea and coffee, and people came and went, praising Arthur for his efforts and his idea, and telling him that he had  set a high standard and a good name for his generation. Only when the bigger crowds had died down and Jessie and Jimmy closed up the tearoom, was Arthur rudely interrupted whilst he spoke to Jennie about the potential of a volunteer position within the library.

“I just wasn’t expecting the popularity. I’ve had over 900 people apply for an account today-are there even that many people in Tillicoultry? So if I could have someone to just adminis-”

“Where the bloody hell! Oi! Where is this Covington fellow at?! I swear by the gods that once I get my hands on him I-”

“Sorry, Emrys, he’s busy we’ me at the minute, he’ll be a wee second!” Jennie called out from the tearoom with an apologetic glance towards Arthur before signalling for him to continue.

“I need someone to monitor the accounts. I mean thankfully there’s no money involved but as it stands, I haven’t set a cap on the amount of books that can b-”

“Jennifer Lochrain! You’d better not be talking back to me or I-”

“God, he sounds like your Dad, and you shagged him?” Arthur whispered, a shit eating grin tearing across his face before he got a firm whack in the ear.

“There’s more where tha’ came fae, Covington!”

“There you are! What in the name of Albion have you  _ done _ ? I was gone for barely a year and you sell the place to some rapscallion child who probably doesn’t know his bow from his breeches! This is a historic building!”

Arthur focused in on his iPad screen and flitted through the accounts, trying not to eavesdrop on whatever this nutty old codger was kicking off about. Jenny obviously knew how to deal with the man (in more ways than one, apparently).

“Listen tae me, Emrys! Th’ poor lad pulled tha’ house apart, top tae bottom, which he has every right tae do. This place, though, he’s left th’ place alone as much as he can! So dinnae you dare try tae insult him before you’ve even met the laddy!”

Arthur had to lock his iPad because he couldn’t concentrate. This whole situation was too much, given that the two of them were going at it like an old married couple. 

“Mr Emrys, is it?” Arthur said, spinning on his chair from where he’d been previously facing the side of the room where he’d kept a log book next to the iPad. 

“Mr Emrys? Who does he think he…”

Arthur looked for the first time upon the old man, whose tattered, dark green beanie barely covered his chest-length white hair. Whose matted beard resembled that of bloody Santa’s, and who looked like he had dressed himself in the dark. He wore what appeared to be baggy brown trousers, covered by muddy black wellies (Arthur made a mental note to check that he hadn’t trailed in any mess), and he wore a thick knitted multi-coloured scarf which protruded from the neck of his faded, black trench coat.

He reminded himself of the many things Jimmy had said in the past. That Emrys must’ve had some sort of breakdown or a mental affliction, and so Arthur tried his very best not to be judgemental. Either way, though, when Emrys turned to look at him, he seemed to stop moving completely.

“Arthur?” he whispered, his voice was now staggered, and somehow a lot younger.

Arthur just nodded firmly and stepped forwards. This man had been here as long as anyone else and it was important to make a good impression, even if he was a nutter. “Hello Mr. Emrys, sir. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Arthur held out his hand, but Emrys’ eyes never looked away from Arthur’s. What was more frightening was that he didn’t even appear to be breathing.

“Mr Emrys?” Arthur asked, smiling despite the unfurling panic in his stomach. He couldn’t have someone dying here on the first day of opening, God, no.

“Emrys, you daft ol’ crone, answer th’ lad!” Jennie shouted and when he didn’t react again, Arthur withdrew his hand. 

“Look, I’m sorry that you don’t like what I’ve done with the place but I worked very hard to keep the library’s old design in place. There are only a few changes which I promise are a vast improvement. I can onl-”

“That makes sense, of course it does.” Emrys snapped out of his… whatever he was in, and his eyes shot to Jennie’s. “Of course he wasn’t going to crawl out of the sodding lake, what is this, a horror film? He’s… Gods, what a clotpole I am!” Arthur flinched when Emrys began to slap at his own head and he shared a worried glance with Jennie. “Got to find out- need some… God it’s really him, he’s-”

“Emrys, I swear tae Christ, do I have tae gi’ you a good hidin’ fer you to act slightly human?” Jennie asked, and Arthur watched the play of emotions over Emrys’ face. Fascination, sadness, confusion, and finally, back to his previous grumpy, old man face.

“You!” he shouted, pointing a crooked old finger between Arthur’s eyes. “Of course it would be you, you haven’t changed! Still out to try and drive me daft, well let me tell you-”

“We’ve met before?” Arthur asked. He  _ obviously  _ hadn’t met the lunatic before, he’d definitely remember.

“No.” Emrys said again, aggresive but this time a little detached. “No, we haven’t. I’m heading home.” 

Emrys then turned around, sluggishly hauling himself to the doorway before he paused.

“You’re welcome to come over for a tea whenever you please, Jennifer.” Emrys muttered before heading out, and as soon as Arthur heard the second jingle of the front door he fell into a fit of hysterics.

“Oh my god! You shagged an old man!”

“I swear tae Christ, Arthur, he didn’ae even look anythin’ like tha’! I will come o’er there and- right, come ‘ere you wee bastard, you!”

 

* * *

 

 

That evening, after Arthur said farewells to the last visitors and had a pint down at the local with Jimmy, he paused on his way home, his sight drifting off to where batty, old man Emrys must have still been awake. There was something about the man that made Arthur a little fond, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

With a smile, he headed inside for the night and he lay in bed, mind reeling at the opportunities to come and what lay ahead in this new little life of his. 

‘Goodnight, my loves.’ he signed, kissing his fingertips and placing them around his locket, before reaching across to the bedside unit and turning out the light. 

That night, he dreamed of swords and monsters and magic, none the wiser that his destiny sat up all night, emotionally broken, less than 500 metres away.

 

**_To Be Continued_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please leave feedback on this if you read it. I'd like to know where you think the story is going, what you'd like to see, what intrigued you the most, how it made you feel etc.
> 
> And thank you again for reading <3


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